At Last, I Thee Wed
by queenofowls
Summary: The war has ended, Dimitri's coronation is approaching, and Byleth and Dedue are engaged to be married. Still, with Fódlan in pieces across the nation, it seems that the day for them to be joined in matrimony couldn't be further away. Dedue takes matters into his own hands. [Dedue/f!Byleth] - Dedicated to caffeinatedraindrop who wanted to see my version of Bydue's wedding.
1. The Blessings of the House of Blue Lions

"You're in bright spirits, I see!" Seteth crosses his arms, his gaze drifting from the faithful departing the audience chamber towards Byleth. She returns his affectionate glance curiously, wondering what he means exactly. "It's... pleasant to see you working hard. I thought you'd be in lower spirits with the Captain away, but you seem to be doing quite well. What brings your mood? More wedding planning?"

Byleth shakes her head, biting back a sigh. She wishes she could say they've had the time but... "We looked at wedding band designs a few months ago, if that counts, but since then..." Seteth winces as her expression falls. _Perhaps he should have said nothing._ Hastily, he changes the subject into one that he feels she may appreciate more.

"Well, there is progress in a direction that might please you. As regrettable as it is that it had to be fixed before we got the cathedral in working order, I'm pleased to tell you that the coronation hall has finally been repaired. Preparations for his Highness's ceremony are at least complete. All thanks to your hard work, of course." Byleth smiles briefly, giving him a vague nod of what she hopes looks like approval. She sees what he's doing, but she doesn't have the heart to tell Seteth that she's working hard because it's the best way she can think of to _not_ have to consider the fact that Dimitri's coronation is days away. More than that, she would rather die than be reminded of it. "On another, perhaps more interesting subject, have you decided on another date?"

Byleth blinks at him. Her mind still stuck on the coronation, she looks at him in confusion. _Another... date? Another date for... _wait. Her expression darkens.

"We've discussed this before. I _told_ you my intentions."

Seteth lifts an eyebrow.

"And as I told _you_, a ceremony within the year is simply impossible, Byleth. How can you say such things about your 'intentions' when even you admit that planning progress has not been made in months?" Before he even finishes his sentence, Seteth is already shaking his head. "Perhaps next year, or the year after will be different, but there is still so much work to be done, Byleth. All I am asking is that you exercise patience." He pauses. "_More_ patience."

Byleth lets out a tired breath. "If I am not doing so now, then what am I doing?"

"Beating a dead horse, as far as I see it. It simply cannot be done."

Byleth frowns. "Listen to me, Seteth. I understand that now is not convenient, but if not now, when? Dimitri's coronation is imminent, and the man who has waited more than five years to marry me is on the border of Almyra, suppressing _another_ rebellion in the Leicester Alliance because Claude still hasn't returned. I have not seen Dedue in over three weeks, and am not even certain he will make it back for the coronation." She folds her hands together. "I appreciate the offer to share meals with you and Flayn and you always make me feel welcome when I come but..."

"But we are a poor substitute. Is that it?" Byleth's eyebrows furrow as she speaks softly, hand touching lightly on his.

"This is not about you."

Seteth sighs.

"Byleth. I know you wish for freedoms... and perhaps you are due them. But if the question is, 'when is the most convenient time to marry,' the answer is simply that there isn't one." He cups his chin in one hand and an elbow in the other. "However, _you_ are the Archbishop, not I. Whatever decision you make, I will support you. Just know that neither my advice nor standpoint will change."

The finality in Seteth's voice haunts Byleth as she rests alone on the Star Terrace later, wondering idly where her betrothed is resting beneath these same stars. The argument with Seteth is one she's had before, but it is the first time she's ever heard him end it with such a statement.

_'However, **you** are the Archbishop, not I. Whatever decision you make, I will support you.'_

Byleth understands that truly, Seteth is in an advisory position and that the decision truly is up to her, but... deep in her heart, she knows that when he says that there isn't a convenient time to marry, he is right. Whenever the Knights of Seiros need to be deployed, she has not failed to make the command and watch the captain march into the sunset, hoping dearly that he will return to her.

She was once a professor who, if only her students asked, fought battles in their homelands at their request. She thinks in particular of the men of Duscur that they saved once, a battle that was fought only because Dedue asked and, years later, lead to his life being saved. If she prevents him from going out, who is to say that there is not a life that will be preserved because he has been sent? And... of course... Byleth cannot help but to imagine that if she steals him away from his duties, that she will somehow prove that she is unworthy of this position that's been thrust upon her.

The pressure is suffocating, and suddenly, she feels like a newly appointed professor again, only there is no guidance from students such as Dimitri who wishes to see her succeed. Taking a deep breath, Byleth shakes the dark thoughts from her mind. At the thought of Dimitri, she is reminded that she has more important things to do and consider. _"Crown Prince of Faerghus and its lands beyond, is your Highness willing to swear upon this crown, to lead this nation well as the one true king?"_ She murmurs the lines of the coronation speech and returns indoors to prepare for bed.

Byleth has reviewed this speech a thousand times-no, _ten_ thousand times, the words on her lips with each stroke of her sword as she trains, every step of her feet as she walks, every snap of her jaw as she eats. Yet, for the first time in her life, her hands are shaking.

"Crown Prince of Faerghus and its lands beyond, is your Highness willing to swear upon this crown, to lead this nation well as the one true king?"

Byleth says the familiar words again, only this time... it is not idle speech to her mirrored image. She stares down at the kneeling prince before her and tries her best to ignore the thousands of people below.

All except for one that is.

A tall, dark-skinned man, his face kissed with the memories of hard battles won, stands behind her. She is sure that if she looked at him, his eyes would be full of tears. She takes comfort in his calming presence, taking courage as she concentrates on the prince once more. In his royal finery, Dimitri smiles, his voice a low, bold baritone of certainty. There is steel and might in this voice. "I am willing to swear."

"Your Royal Highness, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, do you solemnly promise and swear to govern the Peoples of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, the former Adrestian Empire, and the former Leicester Alliance according to the respective laws and customs of their lands?" There is a buzz through the room at the notably missing nation from this list.

Duscur. It is not quite official but, as Dimitri confided to Byleth before the ceremony began with an almost childlike giddiness, he has refused to add it into the vow despite his advisors' insistence. And how could he, knowing that his first order of business as king will be to ensure that Duscur will no longer be under the rule of House Kleiman?

That Duscur will no longer be under the rule of _anyone_ in his domain at all?

Dimitri nods in reply to the Archbishop's question. "I do."

The final question of the coronation approaches. _At last._ Dimitri lowers his head as Byleth takes the crown in hand. "Do you swear, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, to use all of your power to let your reign be defined by fairness, by justice, and by peace?"

He breathes his reply towards the ground. "All this I promise to do." Byleth places the crown onto Dimitri's head as he rises. When their eyes meet, she can see that his eyes and cheeks are wet with tears. He mouthes the words again to her. _'All this I promise to do.' _The room fills with thunderous applause as Seteth approaches from the other side, sweeping his arm in a wide, sweeping arc.

"See, Fódlan. Your king!" Taking a deep breath, he leads the spectators into a chant. "Long live the King! Long live the King! Long live the King!"

Byleth seeks Dedue out amongst the milling nobles looking for their seats at the banquet that follows. She suspects they will be seated together, at the king's right hand, but the words of Dimitri's solemn vows make her eager to find the man she cannot wait to say those precious words to.

_I do._

She finds him eventually, unsurprisingly hovering in Dimitri's vicinity. There is enough security here to fill the barracks of an army, and yet he cannot quite rid himself of old habits while in the king's presence. Byleth approaches silently, but he still seems to notice her before she arrives, saying her title the moment she is an arms length away.

"Archbishop." He bows politely in a way that fills her with unreleased laughter. This is not the reunion greeting she expects and yet... it is just like him. Byleth cups Dedue's cheek lightly. It has been an age since she has looked into his eyes.

"Captain. Are you injured?" Dedue shakes his head in reply. _Good_. She smiles softly. "You look especially handsome today." Dedue shifts uncomfortably in the costume of his full armor. In truth, he still feels embarrassed each time she calls him by the new title. Despite that-and the fact that they are in public-he does not pull away from her hand. Byleth allows her thumb to stroke his cheek and her eyes to grace his lips before pulling away. "I missed you." She doesn't ask about the progress in the former Leicester Alliance because, for now, she wishes to speak to Dedue, and not as the Captain of the Knights of Seiros.

...Not that she need worry. Dedue himself could not have further considerations.

In fact, for a brief moment, he glances down at her hand in reply. He considers reaching for it, but Byleth's voice distracts him before he can grasp the confidence needed to do the deed. "How are preparations for our trip to Duscur?" At the question, his lips tilt imperceptibly downward as Dedue subtly clasps his hands behind his back instead.

"Unfortunately, nonexistent," he admits with more than a little displeasure. His tone is apologetic. "This new position is even more work than I expected."

"I suppose that's my fault, in part..." She frowns slightly, worry creasing her brow. "Are you adjusting well to the workload?"

"It's fine. Except..." he hesitates uncertainly. _Except for the fact that I miss you._ "Ah... excuse me. It's nothing." Byleth eyes him curiously, but he doesn't say more. Instead, Dedue stares down at Byleth and wishes that when this day ended, they would be traveling together. Instead, he will have to return to the battlefront in the former Leicester territory without even a full day by her side. The thought hurts, but Dedue holds the words in, opting for a gentler, somewhat watered down version of the admission. "Sometimes it feels like we spent more time together during the war than after."

Seteth's voice echoes in her mind. _'If the question is, "when is the convenient time to marry," the answer is simply that there isn't one.'_ She tries not to sigh, brushing the thought away. As much as it would hurt to say it... this is the perfect segue into the necessary conversation about the inevitable postponement of their wedding. Byleth steels herself, opening her mouth...

"Have you said hello to his Majesty?" ...only to completely change the subject. _Perhaps... another time, maybe in private, would be best_... She tells herself that this is the reason, anyway.

"Not yet." His answer surprises her. His expression lights with guilt. "This is my first time seeing him face-to-face after resigning as his vassal. I fear... he will think I have abandoned him." Byleth grasps his armored forearm lightly.

"He sent you off with a smile, yes?" Dedue's expression is conflicted as he looks down at Byleth. "I don't think Dimitri would feel that way at all." She holds out a hand, her white robes gracing against his gloved hands. "Come. We will meet him together."

They approach Dimitri hand-in-hand. "Friends!" The moment he sees them, his face lights up like the sun. It is the brightest she has ever seen him, even since his days as a student. He immediately excuses himself from another conversation to turn his attention fully towards the two of them. "Dedue! Professor! I have reserved seats for the banquet at my right and left side respectively, as it should be." He bows low to them, to their mutual surprise. "I am sorry not to seat you together, but I couldn't bear anyone else taking those places. We all know that this day would never have come if not for the both of you." Dedue is the first to speak.

"Your High... your Majesty, you protected me first." He lets go of Byleth's hand to bow low in return. "I will never forget how those first months in Fhirdiad felt like a prison." Dedue pauses at the distant memory. How different he feels now. "I hated you, then. So, so much. I blamed you for not letting me die with the rest of my family. But..." Dedue reaches out to place his hand on Dimitri's shoulder, "You earned my loyalty by being the kind of man whom I wished to be king. Thank you for keeping your promises. Both to Duscur, and to me."

Dimitri reaches out and clasps Dedue's shoulder, gripping it tightly before pulling the man into an embrace. He stiffens in surprise, then returns the unexpected touch with crushing emotion. There is blood and pain between them, words that cannot perhaps be every truly expressed, but... Dedue's voice is quiet in Dimitri's ear.

"The only reason I am not sorry that I am no longer in your service is beside me, your Majesty. You are a good man." Dimitri's reply is thick with emotion.

"Thank you, Dedue, for trusting me with your future hopes, even when I was not worth their weight. And... thank you for being at my side all of these years." Byleth looks away, unsure if she should be watching something so intimately personal. She moves to step away, but Dimitri pulls an arm out of the hug and gestures her forward. "Where are you going, Professor? You've protected me in just as many ways too, you know. I am certain I would have faced death without your support. So... please." He gestures for her to join in the embrace as Byleth replies dryly, stepping towards him with a slight smile.

"Well, from the moment I met you, you've been running from a blade. I don't think I ever had a choice."

"Oh, Professor! Your tongue has gotten sharper these days. Perhaps it is inevitable, spending so much time with Seteth." Byleth smiles at him warmly.

"Perhaps."

"Is that a group hug? I want in!" A bright, cheery voice rings out followed by a softer, much more relaxed one.

"Oh, Annette. You should've let them have their moment. But..." There's a chuckle, followed by a sigh. "I must admit, it _does_ look pretty warm." Dimitri lets out a guffaw from deep within his chest, grinning at the sight of most of his former classmates' arrival. Felix, Sylvain and Ingrid are not far behind the girls. He inclines his head in greeting.

"You are all just as responsible for this day as any of us. Feel free to join us." The girls run towards him, joining the embrace. Dedue lifts an eyebrow at the remaining trio observing them. He pauses, then asks the question comfortably.

There's not much need for decorum between them. Not when they have spilled blood together.

"Were any of you planning on joining?"

Felix sneers. "Absolutely not. I'll share a table with the boar, but I won't find him in my arms." Mercedes peeps her head from the middle of the embrace.

"Oh, Felix. You don't have to join if you don't want to. But you're most definitely missing out!"

He turns his back. "Fine by me." Sylvain grabs him by the collar and drags him forward.

"Oh, no, you don't. Come get some love like the rest of us. In my personal opinion, there's not enough ladies, but I'll join in. Ingrid? Care to help?" Ingrid rolls her eyes as she takes hold of Felix's other arm, assisting in dragging him towards the group hug.

"Hey! Let go of me!" Ingrid ignores him, glaring at Sylvain instead.

"'Not enough ladies,' Sylvain? You're insatiable. What did we say this morning? Didn't we say we were going to control ourselves during the coronation ceremony at the very _least?"_

Sylvain winks at her, ducking out of the way of one of Felix's swinging fists. "Ceremony's over, baby!" Then a pause as Ingrid lets out a loud '_ugh!' _in reply. "Aw, come on! Ingrid, don't leave! I can't drag him on my own, he'll esca-aw, see? Felix, come on! Don't-" Felix makes himself scarce as Sylvain looks between them, trying to figure who is better to make peace with. He groans, chasing after Ingrid's retreating figure. "Ingrid? Ingrid wait, don't go! You're my ride home, remember?"

Annette snuggles against Dimitri's arm before opening her eyes wide. "Oh! If there's no one else, should we let go, then?"

"N-no, wait!" Ashe appears. "I heard the commotion and knew you all had to be at the center. I'm not sure if it's appropriate to hug the king himself but..." He squeezes his eyes tightly and holds out his arms. They hold each other tightly, a spectacle in the middle of the dining hall. The laughing mass of tangled limbs is only interrupted by the sound of trumpets and Seteth's voice ringing out immediately after.

"The coronation dinner will begin shortly. If I can ask you all to take your places." The hug breaks up into growling stomachs and more laughter.

As Byleth looks around the humble wooden table in Garreg Mach's dining hall reserved for the king, she cannot help but feel the warmest sense of nostalgia. Sometimes it is hard to believe that more than five years have really passed, especially when she sees her former students all together like this.

She looks to her right. Dimitri is at the head of the table, Dedue is at his right side. Alongside him sit Annette, Ashe and Ingrid. Byleth, on Dimitri's left, is seated beside the remaining members of the former Blue Lion House, Mercedes, Felix and Sylvain. The conversation falls into a lull when alongside her, Mercedes' fork suddenly clatters against the plate accompanied with a gasp. Everyone-aside from the king and former vassal-stop their smaller conversations to look in her direction in alarm. "Professor! Is that a _ring_ on your finger?"

"What?! Where?" Annette gasps from the seat across from hers. "A-and that's... not just any ring, either!" She looks accusatorially around their section of the table, starting with Dimitri... but the piercing expression is lost on him as he stares down at the food intently, a perplexed expression on his face as he still converses with Dedue.

"I'm sure whoever it is very, _very_ lucky to be able to marry you, professor." Mercedes rests her hand on her cheek, a dreamy expression on her face. "I'm a little jealous!" Annette's piercing stare moves onto Sylvain, who quickly drops his utensils, raising both hands.

"Whoa, now. Don't look at me. I'm not looking for any reason to chain myself in the marital dungeon." He glances at Ingrid, winking. "Unless it's to you, of course, Ingrid."

Ingrid cuts through her potatoes huffily. "Save it, Sylvain. I'm not my grandma."

"Oh, come on! When will you let that go?"

Annette's eyes drift over to, rest on, then pass by Felix's scowl. He lets out an affronted snort.

"What, you're not going to accuse me?"

Annette balks, eyes wide. "Should I? I mean I thought you..." She flusters for a moment under Felix's gaze. Her voice is quiet. "_Was_... it you?"

"You're kidding." Felix turns his nose up. "Why, would it bother you if it _were_ me?" Annette flusters, her blue eyes flickering from left to right before she squeezes her hands into fists.

"H-hey, Felix! You're the one who asked me to ask you! You're mean!"

"Stop teasing Annette, Felix." Byleth finally intervenes. As amusing as it is to hear her former class's dynamic, she cannot let them go on any longer. She interrupts the conversation to the left of her, placing her hand on Dedue's elbow, a twinkle in her eye. "Dedue." Both he and Dimitri look up, the latter mostly curious about what's made her interrupt them. "They're asking about your ring."

"Yes?" Dedue looks perplexed for a moment. "What did you wish to know?"

In the midst of taking a drink, Sylvain does a spit-take, the water thankfully, disgustingly, flooding back into the glass, aside from some overflow back into his lap.

"Oh, my!" Mercedes ignores Sylvain's choking coughs, touching her fingertips to her mouth. "Congratulations, Dedue! And you too, professor!" Annette claps her hands excitedly.

"Hear, hear! I'll bet you'll look amazing in a wedding dress! I wonder how I should do my make up for the ceremony..." Ingrid chuckles at Annette's excitement.

"Yeah, you have fun figuring _that_ out. Congratulations to you both! I'm really happy for you, too. And... if we're talking about wedding preparations," there's the faintest sparkle in Ingrid's eyes, "I can't wait to see what kind of food you serve! Wedding banquets are always so delicious!" Felix _tsks_ at the girls' enthusiastic responses in disgust. By contrast, Ashe readily nods along with Ingrid's comments.

"As a once aspiring restaurant owner, I have to agree. My tongue anticipates seeing what I can learn from the culinary side. It should be an enlightening experience!" Ashe and Ingrid give each other sparklingly bright grins as Felix shakes his head, jabbing a slice of zanato tomato with his fork.

"Sickening." He gestures towards Dedue across the table with a single hand. "Look, as long as you're not lovey-dovey on the battlefield, I guess it's fine. We're the ones who'll have to comfort the professor when you die trying to defend the boar for the thousandth time, so just try not to make us have to cover your slack." Byleth lifts an eyebrow at Felix's badly disguised congratulations. She makes to comment, but decides against it as Sylvain continues to clear his throat loudly, finally managing to more or less get his coughing under control.

"I'm..." he clears his throat roughly, and takes a gulp of water to calm his throat. "I'm going to make the _opposite_ advice. If anything ever happens, I'll be _glad_ to comfort you, professor." He pauses thoughtfully. "Then again, if _Dedue's_ your type, I never stood a chance, huh." Ingrid leans in, her fork hovering dangerously close to Sylvain's chin.

"Sylvain. Keep talking. Please, _give_ me a reason to silence you."

Felix narrow his eyes.

"And wait a second... why is the boar the only one who isn't surprised?"

Dimitri lets out a proud chuckle. "Because I knew, of course!" Dimitri claps a hand on Dedue's broad shoulder. "Dedue is no longer my vassal."

"_**WHAT?!**_" The sound is so loud that for a moment, the entire hall silences. There is not a single person at their table, bar Dimitri, Dedue and Byleth, who does not exclaim the word. The stunned silence reigns for a moment before it's broken by mutual laughter from the first two people to thaw: Ashe and Annette.

Ashe places his knife on the table. "You know... times like these I'm happier than ever that we all met." Annette nods in agreement cheerily.

"That's just what I was thinking! It's so nice to have everyone together again." She looks up at Dedue, smiling softly. "And I'm really happy for you." Her eyes shine as she squeezes Dedue's arm lightly. "We all are."

Byleth walks the Officer's Academy portion of Garreg Mach alone. As pleasant as she finds her students, truly, a dinner with just those few would be... preferred as opposed to a massive hall filled with hundreds of people as the coronation dinner was. Byleth found herself excusing herself the moment the dessert course was complete, skipping out on the endless vows and speeches from the various house representatives.

Seteth could take care of the Church's portion for the evening, she reasons, and she suspects that he had already assumed as much considering the fact that he only smiled briefly as he noted her departure.

"Professor!" A sunny voice sounds out behind her, the title carefully pronounced with a familiar, ever-particular enunciation.

"Hello, Flayn." Byleth glances around and is half-surprised to see that Seteth is not also lurking in the shadows. "What are you doing here alone?"

"My brother sent me to find you. He said you might get lost wandering these grounds, but we both know that's not possible." Flayn sighs huffily. "I told him he was just worrying idly for nothing but he insisted I not leave you alone. I'm sorry for the trouble, but would you mind me accompanying you?

Bylthe clears her throat. "Ah... not at all." They walk together with purpose, Flayn's stride quick but pleasantly accessibly as she loops her arm through Byleth's. The taller woman stares down at her curiously. "I didn't see you in the dining hall."

"His Majesty invited me to sit with at our house's table with him but... my brother and I agreed that it would be safer if I were not placed into a high prestige position, given our _very_ similar hair colors. I took my meal elsewhere." Byleth thinks to ask if she feels lonely for the precautions she must take to protect her identity, but decides against it. _Perhaps... that is a thing best asked in the safety of closed doors,_ she thinks to herself.

"Well, you are always welcome to eat with us." Byleth's gaze drops for a moment. _When this all stabilizes, and there is an 'us' to invite you, anyway._ Flayn doesn't, or perhaps pretends not to, notice her crest-fallen expression, squeezing her arm tightly.

"I would _love_ to share meals with you and Dedue! Especially if he is the one preparing them." She laughs easily, the sound bouncing off of the high walls of the castle. "I am truly happy for you, professor. You have done so much for me and... and for my brother. He would never admit it, but between you and me, he has already chosen what he will wear on the day you wed." Byleth almost isn't surprised. After all, he is the type of man who once appreciated the dapper handkerchiefs she would gift him whenever she was preparing to ask a favor. Especially a favor that she knew he would be loathe to agree to.

"I wish that day were sooner rather than later." She doesn't mean to say it aloud in all honesty, but... the words come out like sand through a sieve. Flayn seems neither bothered nor surprised. She looks at Byleth with large, innocent eyes, the expression in them anything but childlike.

"I... I am sorry about that, truly. Brother has been working his hands to the bone in the hopes that a time could be found but... it seems hopeless. Even so, my brother is happy for you, as am I." She grasps Byleth's hand. "Even though you are not to wed my brother, you are as dear to me as..." Flayn glances around herself then tugs Byleth closer by her sleeve to whisper into her ear. _"As a mother."_ She giggles into her hand. "Perhaps that sounds strange to say considering our... ages, but I treasure your guidance more than almost any other, and I want to tell you that whomever you marry will certainly be my family, too." Flayn leans away, smiling softly. "I am especially glad that it is someone as kind as Chef Dedue."

Byleth feels her heart thrumming steadily in her chest. Her father once told her that she seemed like she was more expressive once she started teaching at the Academy. She thought nothing of it then, but... Byleth cannot help but wonder. Is this what most people feel like when others said such touching things to them? Because... she has the strangest urge now, as she looks at Flayn, to hug the girl. She does not consider herself a person particularly prone to such things. In fact, she has never given much thought to how others felt in such situations, but now...

Walking beside Flayn, she cannot help but feel warm.

"Thank you, Flayn." She touches the arm wrapped around her own lightly. "People have often told me that my presence, my gaze even... makes them uncomfortable." Byleth glances down at Flayn. She hadn't once been called the Ashen Demon for nothing, after all. "You admitted early on that you found me mysterious, and yet... you never made me feel like my presence was disquieting. For that, I thank you." Flayn beams up at her, stopping outside of the staircase leading to the Archbishop's bedroom.

"Think nothing of it, _sister_. Just... promise me... we'll go fishing again once you have more free time?" Her voice is hopeful in a way that makes Byleth suddenly understand why, amongst other reasons, Seteth is so fiercely protective of her.

"I promise."

* * *

**I put some hinty pairs in there, but actually I don't ship anything else very strongly. I wish I could've fit more Ashe (my other favorite Blue Lion son) in here but it's difficult to write so many characters at one time and have them all participate in the conversation. Sorry if your Blue Lion fave didn't have a lot of lines because mine didn't either.**

**Feel free to leave your thoughts! Every review is a seat closer to the King's table at the coronation dinner!**


	2. Just the Two of Us

**A/N: This is NOT an additional chapter! I am sorry in advance for the notification. The length was just bothering me so I cut this fic in half. The only thing I added is an after story note at the end.**

* * *

Dedue stands from his seat in the gardens where he and Dimitri take tea. "Excuse me, Dimitri. I... don't mean to be rude but-" The king holds up a hand, standing as well.

"Say no more, Dedue. I hope the rings are to your liking." Dedue nods. On his own, perhaps, he would not have the time to commission the wedding bands he and Byleth had chosen, but thankfully, Dimitri seemed all too willing to assist. He feels the refreshing weight of the matching rings in his pocket, his heart light in his chest. "And you have yet to establish a date?"

In spite of his high mood, Dedue grimaces. "Byleth is busy as well, but it is really the fact that I am constantly away that prevents us, I think. The displeased of Fódlan never rest."

"Ah. I heard that the Knights have been deployed in nearly every corner of Fódlan since war's end. Of course... I am pleased to know that the nation isn't _so_ splintered that maintaining order isn't impossible but... am I in understanding that in the early morning, you will be returning to the former Leicester Alliance territories?"

"You are, your Majesty." Dedue knows that it is already past the midnight hour. As it is, his chances to take time with the former professor are becoming ever slimmer. Dimitri nods as Dedue presses his lips together. "It is not like the old days, where we had the leisure of following the professor into battle and taking tea with her between training sessions." Dimitri opens his mouth, then pauses thoughtfully.

"Strange how she is not our professor now, yet we are still following her guidance." He shakes his head. "But I have no desire to reminisce. As happy as those days seemed, we both know the reality and I am glad they are finished. I would rather be the man I am at present and truly know what joy is, as I do now." Dedue nods in agreement, making to bow. Dimitri stops him. "Before you go... out of curiosity, do you still call her the professor?"

"In private?" Dedue allows a smile. "Not at all. I use her name."

Dimitri laughs. "How fortunate! I don't think I could be so brave. Though... I suppose if I were to marry, I am the type to prefer alternative terms of endearment." Dedue's eyebrows draw together as he folds his arms pensively.

"Alternative... terms, your Majesty?"

Dimitri gestures vaguely. "Something commonly affectionate, yet special between the two of us. Honey, sweetheart, dearest, perhaps even 'my love'... I think such things are saccharine, yet I cannot deny their appeal."

Dedue tries to imagine it. Byleth looking up at him in an embrace. _'Dedue, my love...'_ The image gives him chills, but not quite in a way that displeases him.

"I hope you find such happiness, your Majesty, should you wish it." Dimitri prods Dedue's shoulder lightly.

"I _was_ trying, but you snatched her hand before I even knew what was happening!" Dimitri shakes his head. "Not, to say, that I ever think of such things now. But if I had known of your feelings when we were still students, perhaps I would've put up a better fight."

"With all due respect, your Majesty, if it were for the professor's hand, I wouldn't lose. Even against you." As Dedue says the words, he finds them true. Perhaps there is a part of him that is surprised that he would not give her up, too, had his Majesty asked at that time... but he cannot imagine doing so now.

The reality is impossible to know.

They exchange smiles.

"Go to her. I won't keep you longer. With Duscur's reparations in progress, I'll see you far more often than perhaps even the professor will."

Dedue sets off for the third floor of the main hall, fire under his footsteps. He strides up the first stairwell in threes, and before he knows it, he is at her door. He is breathless, not in small part because of the person behind the door. Dedue stares for a moment at the wooden surface. In reality, he isn't sure what he will say to her. But then, he never has anything of substance to say, and yet... their silence, even, is always filled with light and color.

Even if he has no words, he cannot deny his desire to see her face.

_Tap, tap._

"Who is it?" The sound of her voice makes him want to remove the wood between them. He can barely reply his name. He just wants to see her face.

"Dedue. I..." His mind scrambles for an activity. It suddenly occurs to him, how this must look. What kind of man is he, to come to a woman's bedroom alone in the night, even if they are to be wed? He hopes that she does not think him the type to unleash wanton desire on her unprovoked. _Perhaps, then, something outdoors would be safer._ "I wished to invite you for a walk." The door swings open and immediately, his famished eyes feel full as they take in her full form.

The flesh of her thighs is in view, unobstructed by the design of black lace or her normal boots. Instead she wears a short silken gown, clearly meant for bed. There is a telltale sway in her breasts that makes him flush. Without meaning to, Dedue balks, taking a step backwards. "Dedue?" Her voice lights with confusion as she steps towards him but he holds out his hands as if to stop her, or perhaps, to take hold. He isn't quite sure, but he folds them behind his back, just in case.

"Did you... mean to come out in your nightgown?" She shrugs uncomprehendingly, so Dedue pauses, lowering her voice as his hands fluster awkwardly, gesturing in a cupping motion to his own chest. "Without... er... bindings?" Byleth's eyes stray downward, realization dawning on her.

She doesn't reply, only shutting the door in his face. Dedue wonders if it were on purpose. He wishes, hopes even, that it was, and for a foolish moment, even considers changing his mind about the walk and knocking at the door to make a very different suggestion-but Byleth returns in a longer nightgown dress that, while concealing more, does nothing to erase the original imagery of her form beneath the fabric.

He cannot help but to steal a glance.

_Oh_. The swaying gone. He is the one who mentioned it and yet... he is almost disappointed. Dedue has not yet seen her unclothed and regrettably, he thinks to himself, the more inaccessible she is, the less he has a chance to. He holds out a hand. Wordlessly, she grasps it, and he cannot help but to press a soft kiss to the back of her palm.

Dedue wonders for a moment if he is dreaming. So often, when he wakes up to mud and dirt, strapping on his armor to prepare for another fight, he thinks to himself that perhaps the final months of the war were only bearable because he had the company of Byleth to look forward to at each battle's end.

The kiss to her hand is not enough.

Dedue pulls Byleth fully into his arms, bending to press a brief kiss to her lips, then cradling her head tenderly against his chest. Her own arms wrap around him as he takes in the scent of her hair, kissing it, too. She murmurs into his armored skin. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" When she pulls away slightly, Byleth's gaze avoids his own.

"We could be married if not for me. For my position."

"Or mine," he reminds her gently. Byleth shakes her head.

"But your appointment is also my doing. Not that you are unworthy or that I gave it out of bias, but..." She trails off. "I must tell you the truth. I asked Seteth when the best time to marry was and... and there is no convenient time for us. Not this year. Perhaps not even the next." She presses his hand against her cheek. "And he is right. I have tried to find time best to plan, to meet for measuring for a dress and food, to make invitations, and I have made almost no progress on my own. We have no dates. No venue for a ceremony. No invitations, or meals. It seems... we must delay it indefinitely."

"Is that so?" He isn't sure if it is because he is not a strategist, but if there is no time to plan a public ceremony, then... the solution seems quite simple. She does not know it but... he touches his pocket lightly, an idea forming in his mind. "Byleth... come with me."

And when he steps, her steps are alongside him.

When they arrive at the bridge on the far end of the monastery grounds, Byleth is filled with confusion at their destination. There is no doubt about it though-the gate lifts, and when they walk through it, the familiar cathedral is there, the cool mountain air blowing through the large hole through the ceiling, a pile of rubble below.

Dedue has lead her to the crumbling church grounds.

"Dedue?"

"I know we don't have time to plan a ceremony. But if you wish to know my thoughts..." He tentatively reaches out to cup her cheek, stroking it lightly with his thumb. "I do not need a ceremony. Here and now is fine."

_"Now?"_ She gapes at Dedue for a moment, and at the reaction, strangely, Dimitri's words from a far different time float into his mind.

_'Dedue, as long as we've known each other, you still find ways to surprise me.'_

Is his line of thinking so strange?

He wonders to himself as he reaches into his pocket and holds out the wedding rings. A pair of stoneless, shining bands rest in his palm, each engraved with the delicate engravings of Duscur roses, gold plating on each rose blossom. As they decided together, they are forged from pure mythril for the sole purpose of being wearable even in battle. She touches one lightly, one word on her lips.

"How?"

"I didn't know if we would have the chance to marry sooner or later. I wanted to be prepared so I asked Dimitri to care for their forging." He closes his hand slowly, looking her in the face with a serious expression. "He has been holding onto them for a while, but we had no time to meet. Now we have. And..." Dedue lifts his closed fist. "I am ready to marry you, if you'll have me."

Byleth nods once. There is no question in her voice. "I'll have you." He hands her his band and faces her. They stare at each other quietly.

"I..." Dedue swallows. "I do not know how to begin. I have never attended a wedding in Fódlan."

"Nor I." She did review a bit about wedding vows in the library, but hardly enough to conduct a ceremony. His words peak her interest. "But only not Fódlan in your case?"

He nods. "I have been to more than one Duscur wedding, but not in more than a decade. To remember the fine details is not possible... but I can recall some things. Perhaps even enough. We need to be sitting for one thing, but..." He sighs. "This armor is cumbersome."

"Then... shall we remove it?" He glances around himself, as if saying the word will summon danger.

"I suppose we could-" He reaches down to unbuckle it, but Byleth stops him with a hand.

"Allow me." He hesitates, then drops his hands, waiting impassively to see what she will do. Byleth slides her hands to his shoulders, undo-ing the narrow buckles that attach the shoulder pauldrons to his breastplate. Each day it is a squire who normally wraps his chainmail around his hips, attaches his armor and buckles the straps, and he has never thought of the actions as remotely intimate. But now...

As Byleth removes the armor with practiced hands, Dedue watches her through hooded eyelids, trying to stay as quiet as possible. Somehow, he has the strangest sensation that if he makes noise, he will scare Byleth away like some paper-hearted dove. Her movements are painstakingly slow as, with each piece of armor gone, she prods and presses at the skin beneath it, then searches his face with his eyes for any pained reaction.

It occurs to him what she is searching for. "I am unwounded, Byleth." He almost laughs as she goes through her thorough check. Not that Dedue has a problem with Byleth running her hands across his body-but it does seem amusing considering he's already said he was fine when they met earlier in the dining hall. He takes a moment to smooth his fingers lightly over her hair. "I'm alright..." Dedue pauses, a thought occurring to him. _Terms of endearment_... "Sweet... heart?" It takes her a moment to realize that he's referring to her. Byleth looks up to meet his eyes, surprised. The nickname is not one she's heard before, and the blush on his bronzed cheeks gives him away.

_No_, he thinks, _perhaps he is not ready for such things._

Byleth smiles secretively to herself as she slides the last of the metal to the floor, just leaving Dedue in the final, padded cloth layer. "Are you satisfied?" She shakes her head, her expression still concealing her thoughts.

"Almost." _Almost?_ The answer is more intriguing than the simple 'yes' that he expects. With her help, he sheds the padding as well until there is nothing left aside from loose linen trousers and a thin shift is draped across his torso, the breezy fabric leaving both nothing and everything to the imagination.

The armor finally shed, Byleth revels in the rare sight of Dedue in simple cloth layers. The sight is nearly ethereal, the creamy, undyed undergarments contrasting with the russet glory of his scarred chest. Crisscrossed across the skin of his arms, there are scars here too, but they are merely a side attraction. No, what appeals to Byleth's eyes the most is the subtle shift of his muscles, rippling beneath the gauzy material. It is obvious that such fabric is not meant to be worn out of doors, and with Dedue as its wearer, it is twice as obvious why he should never wear it out of doors.

If he ever did, she is uncertain she would ever be able to look elsewhere again.

Byleth cannot help but to runs her hands down his arms, quietly marveling at the firmness of his war-honed body. He looks at her in confusion at the curious action, but she only meets his eyes quickly, an excuse ready on her lips. "The fabric, it is... wrinkled in some places." With the next stroke of her hand, Byleth makes a pretense of smoothing out the wrinkles of the under shirt, her hands slipping along the hard earned definition of Dedue's shoulders and chest, the firm flesh that of a man who has labored for it.

The front of the shirt opens into a generous wedge, revealing pectoral muscles that have been crafted for the sole purpose of tempting her to touch them.

It takes all she can not to grasp the point where the split ends and tear it straight down the middle. As she thinks the thought, Dedue grasps her wrists, stopping them from their foray towards his abdominal muscles.

"I know your intentions are innocent, but..." He stares down at her, his dark green eyes dark. Dark with _what_ exactly she is unsure but... it is something she perhaps cannot name and does not wish to if he will continue to look at her this way. "It is hard to concentrate when you touch me so much. Your hand feels very..." Dedue pauses for the briefest moment, "_very_ good, but they make me want to..." He searches for the words, a flush slowly crossing his cheeks as he runs a list of phrases-_obscene ones, she imagines_-through his mind and seemingly finds none appropriate to say. The feeling of her hands on his skin makes him feel weak to the bottom of his soul. "Ah..." Byleth wishes he would dare. He lets go of her wrists, dropping his hands as he avoids her gaze entirely to gesture towards the ground. "We should sit." She sinks to the ground across from him obligingly.

Her eyes will have to be content for now.

She knows that Dedue is a large man, but with his legs crossed in front of her, his height somehow feels more pronounced. She wishes to lay her face on his chest and see how many deserving kisses she can shower upon its expanse.

Byleth cannot help but think the wild thoughts as her eyes take him in. It has been almost a month since she last saw him, and Byleth wonders if his thoughts are nearly as intimate as her own. Dedue shifts closer until their knees touch, then reaches out to gently take her wrist. "There is a cord I should tie around your wrist, and one you should tie around mine. The colors would differ, and they would be twisted together, then knotted at the end." He drops his hand. "But we have no cord either." Byleth shakes her head.

"True. But we can pretend." She lifts his hand and kisses the palm lightly before painstakingly mimicking the action of tying a ribbon around his wrist. He cannot ignore her efforts. Dedue does the same, his face warming slightly as the surprise imprint of her lips against the skin of his hand. "Now what? We make vows?"

"We can." This, Byleth finds easy. She looks at him, her face flushing slightly.

"If I may?" Dedue nods, waiting. "I vow to lead us into a peaceful world with no more secrets between us. Nothing between us. I love you," she says softly, her eyes only on Dedue, "and I will use all of my strength to protect all that you hold dear."

Dedue thinks for a moment. "I vow to always be by your side." He is not a man of words, but he cannot help but echo himself. "Always, Byleth." As they stare at each other, Dedue leans downward to press his forehead to hers. He murmurs uncertainly. "You would really marry me?" But her reply could not be more sure.

"In every lifetime."

At the simple words, Dedue falls silent. He wonders at the many times in his life that he thought he was cursed. Cursed to die, then cursed to live and now... now he feels that he is not cursed at all.

The world has been unkind to him in many ways and on many days, but not on this one.

He looks down at the love of his life and for a moment, cannot speak.

"We... we..." Of all the times he has not spoken, it has never been because his words are stuck, as they are now. "We... do not wear rings in a Duscur ceremony. Still... I suppose now is fine?" She shrugs, smiling at him. Her heart pounds at he holds out his "bound" hand to her. Byleth tries to slip the ring onto his finger, but to her surprise, his fingers are quivering. He is not alone.

The space between them is filled with quiet laughter as Byleth manages to finally push the ring up his finger. Grasping hers after, Dedue does the same. The rings fit like a dream, and when they are both wearing them, Dedue holds her hand to take a moment to appreciate the glint of the pair in the moonlight.

They are in a crumbling cathedral.

He is in the underclothes meant to be concealed under armor, and beside him, his new wife wears a nightgown meant for sleeping rather than to be wed.

There is no lavish meal, and they are not amongst esteemed guests, much less their friends.

The world they wish for has not yet dawned.

_And yet_... he feels like he is staring down at the moon, so soft and bright and full of hope for an even brighter dawn.

"Now what?" She whispers the words.

"I... think we are married?" His reply is uncertain, but Byleth grasps Dedue's linen blouse and pulls him forward to bring his face to hers. Her mouth covers his with only the smallest of noises of surprise on his part. She lets go of the shirt and cups his face in her hands as he bends towards her, their lips quick and frantic at first meeting. He feels her tongue slip alongside his mouth and opens it obligingly, tilting his head just a little more to fully immerse himself in her lips.

He can feel his body responding. He thinks to say something, but she breaks the kiss, her words coming breathlessly. "We _are_ married," Byleth says firmly. He cannot help but smile.

"If you give the command, Archbishop, it is done." The smile dims slightly. "I wish I could spend more time with you." He breaks his gaze from hers to look towards the heavens. It is still dark for now, but there are mere hours between the darkness and the light, the time he has to depart. "As acting captain of the Knights, perhaps that is a selfish thought."

"Perhaps," she agrees. "And yet I am thinking it as well."

"Then..." He swallows, the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. Dedue tries to keep his voice calm. He can scarcely believe he is uttering the words, but looking into her eyes, they come naturally. "Shall we be selfish?"

Byleth looks at him. _They shouldn't._ But...

Heart racing, she leads him back to her bedroom, Dedue's armor a forgotten pile on the cathedral floor. They are silent for two flights of stairs, and when he arrives at the third, she pushes open the door to the former archbishop's private chamber. Her... _their_ bedroom.

When she shuts it behind them, Byleth feels uncertain as she locks the door, turning towards him slowly.

"I have never done this before." Neither has he, but that has never stopped his brain from composing this moment in his imagination more times than he can count. Dedue looks her in the eyes, wondering if he should voice the thought. Byleth avoids his gaze. "I don't want to disappoint you." There is so much uncertainty seeping from her voice that in that moment he knows exactly what he must tell her.

"Byleth?" When he says it aloud, he finds that Byleth's name is more musical than any term of endearment he could invent. "I will never be disappointed." He hesitates, then reaches out to touch a heavy finger to the point where her jaw and neck meet. Slowly, deliberately, he trails that finger down her neck and shoulder, watching her breath hitch. There is no doubt in his mind that she feels similarly. His words come huskily, but with a firm finality that does not allow space for doubt. "I have wished to make love to you for a very, _very_ long time." She searches his eyes, and out of fear she will find the wrong meaning, the wrong words there, Dedue adds one more softly. "Desperately." He takes hold of her waist and draws Byleth's hips forward to press his lips to hers. Her mouth is soft and warm, and as one of his hands wander lower to knead her soft flesh, she responds positively to his attentions with a soft sigh into his mouth.

He breaks the kiss for the sole reason of seeing her expression. It is one of his favorites, a face rosy with stimulation, her eyes cloudy with want for more. Each time he sees it, he can scarcely believe how positively she responds to his attentions.

How badly he wants to remove everything from between them and feel her bare skin, her voice mingled with his.

He kisses her eyelids.

But first, he will make her feel loved.

She decides she will wait until the sun's light drifts through the high windows to wake him. Byleth stares her husband in the face, eyes tracing his lips and his nose before resting on the long silver lashes leaving trails of shadows along his cheeks. The scars on his face are not fresh, but she resists the urge to trace them with reverent fingers.

_So many have tried to take you from me,_ she thinks to herself. _And yet all have failed. I will only allow old age to claim you._ Byleth presses her head to his chest, shutting her eyes at the sound of his heartbeat. She tries to touch him delicately without waking him, but fails miserably.

Dedue's battle-readiness forces his eyes open on their own at the slight movement. For a moment, he doesn't know where he is. The bed is too soft to be a barrack and this delicious weight he feels... He shuts his eyes again to maintain hold of the dream, but there is no need to. It is unmistakable. Hours before... they married. Her soft body is aligned with his. He runs his hands up the smooth bare curves of her back, her soft form pressed into his. Her breath catches and Dedue opens his eyes drowsily at the sound. When he does...

"Hello." She is smiling. He doesn't respond, stroking her hair instead as if to assure himself again that she is real. Byleth presses her lips to the hollow of his neck, just because she can. She wishes daybreak will never come.

"Byleth." His voice is soft. "How do you feel?"

"Like touching you." That is not what he is asking, but her unhesitant reply makes him smile. He can't explain what about her behavior he finds so endearing, but the thought that he adores her surfaces again. Dedue wonders how he will find the strength to leave for Leicester in mere hours. Instead of thinking about it, he rubs small circles into the flesh of her back.

"You may do as you like. I have taken liberties myself."

Byleth presses a kiss to his chest, then pauses. "Dedue?" He tries to lift his neck to look at her but... Byleth understands, rolling off of him so he can shift to his side and meet her eyes, his head propped up by his elbow. He immediately misses her weight and warmth, but appreciates being able to look her in the eyes once more. Eyes that were shut in bliss mere hours before. A nose that ran along his collarbone. Lips that called out his name.

The memories feel much more powerful than any of his imaginings. He cannot imagine leaving them, or this bed, behind.

"May I ask you something?"

"Anything." She holds up the hand where her engagement and now wedding ring rest, letting them glint in the dim candlelight. He catches it, pressing his lips to her fingers.

"Annette... she said that the ring you gave me for our engagement isn't just any ring. What did she mean?" Dedue smiles.

"Well..." He pauses. "During the war, I knew that I wished to marry you, but as Dimitri informed me, I was woefully unequipped. No ring." He clears his throat as he remembers Dimitri's insistence that in Fódlan, rings are the norm for a proposal when asking someone's hand. The memory that she also carried a ring for him the day he proposed pleases him. Not for the first time, Dedue is relieved that he followed through on his friend's advice. "Most merchants during the war were not in the business of carrying luxury goods, and this ring is the only jewelry I had." He touches lightly on the green stone. "The class ring of the Officer's Academy." There is a soft affection in his eyes as he stares down at the ring. They were given the year before she appeared as their professor, so he knew she did not possess one. He reaches out and tucks spring green strands behind her ear, his voice tender. "It is coincidence, perhaps, but it pleases me greatly that it matches your eyes."

Byleth stares down at the bands, then clenches her hand into a fist.

"Why are you so good to me, Dedue?"

He stares at her as if the reason isn't the most obvious thing in the world. Instead of replying aloud, Dedue cups her cheek and closes the space between their lips. _There is still a little time,_ he reasons to himself. _Just a little._ At the slight pressure of his hand against one of her shoulders, she lies with her back flat against their bed. He climbs over her form, his body dwarfing Byleth's as his eyes bore down into hers.

"You do not yet know?" She stares up at him, a languid magnetism in her gaze. She does not answer with certainty and so he decides he will show her again, without the obstacle of layers of fabric to prevent them from joining hands and touch once more.

He does.

* * *

**After story notes:**

**Seteth would notice the second ring and while surprised (and miffed because he would've wanted to be there. He did pick an outfit, after all) he would be quite proud of Byleth because her choice is not something he would've done. He likes it when she makes her own decisions and relies on herself for advice.**

**The rest of the Blue Lion house would receive letters explaining shortly after, and a small, private reception would be held for them in Fhirdiad, concurrent with a peace-meeting about Duscur so that all could attend.**

**Later, Bydue would have a public ceremony (much, much later).**


End file.
